


The Best Distraction

by InsertSthMeaningful



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Dildos, Erik Lehnsherr Cries His Way Through Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wheelchair Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27964439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful
Summary: Charles has been working on his thesis for weeks now and hasn’t had a moment’s rest. Erik, ever the innovative lover, sets out to change that.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 18
Kudos: 93
Collections: Secret Mutant Madness 2020





	The Best Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hllfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hllfire/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [hllfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hllfire/pseuds/hllfire) in the [secret_mutant_madness_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/secret_mutant_madness_2020) collection. 



> Beta-read by me, myself and I (: Please forgive any mistakes, I am no native speaker. I hope you enjoy your smut, dear prompter! 
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> Charles has been focusing on his PhD research for weeks and haven't given Erik any attention (read: they haven't had sex) in the meantime because he's always out in the morning and at night when he gets home he's too tired to do more than talk over dinner before he either sleeps or goes back to his research. Erik gets tired of it and makes the decision to get his boyfriend (or husband) to pay attention to him. How, is up to you :)
> 
> [the only thing I ask is that it's not non-con!]

The first thing Charles does after he’s wheeled into his and Erik’s shared flat and closed the door behind himself is just sit there and stare at Erik’s wild assortment of shawls and jackets on the coat hangers.

It has been… a day.

Charles takes a deep breath. And then another one. He can feel his heartbeat slow, but the shaking in his fingers just. Stays the same. Oh, he definitely, _definitely_ shouldn’t have drunk that three o’clock coffee.

And then a caffeine overdose is just the least of his problems. With a deep sigh, he starts shucking off his coat and gloves, reminiscing on the happenings of the day.

There was the Oxford Pavement Incident. Yes, the cobblestones in the more tourist-y centre of the city are beautiful, splendid, picturesque even, but they can prove to be bloody annoying when you want to get through there with a wheelchair. Especially when said wheelchair decides to get stuck right there with Charles already five minutes late to a Very Important Meeting and no helpful stranger in sight, only pitying glances and dumbfounded stares.

Well, he did get loose just in time after all, rushing to the university to meet with his supervisor and fine-tune his experimental results, eliminate outliers and all. Everything was going well, perfectly so (suspiciously so).

Until Charles spilt the liquid part of the second iteration of his experiment all over himself and had to redo it from scratch. Wonderful. Lovely. Life really loves him.

The two espressos and three lattes afterwards were history, and when Raven called him during his lunch break, she commented on his “rather tired slurring, Charles, are you sure you’re alright? Has Erik been getting you on that Kirsch schnapps again?”

Erik hasn’t. Charles just wishes he had.

Now, there’s his darling’s quiet singing coming from the kitchen, wafting over to Charles together with the smell of… are those latkes? Right, it’s getting close to Hanukkah again and Erik is probably rehearsing his recipes.

Grunting with the effort to hoist his backpack with his papers from his backrest and pull it onto his lap, Charles listens to Erik’s half-there crooning, bits and pieces of Yiddish forties songs he always claims not to remember.

He does. Charles knows he does, Erik just doesn’t like to be listened to while singing. It’s a shame really – his love has such a beautiful voice.

He inhales the delicious scent of the latkes while he makes his way down the entrance hall, then to his cluttered study where he disposes of his satchel, and at last to the living room slash kitchenette. Erik is standing at the kitchen island, cutting up cucumbers and carrots for a salad, his lower half obscured by the counter. He’s wearing something sleeveless and over it the apron Charles had custom-tailored for him for their fifth anniversary – in big bold magenta letters on the front, it reads KISS THE METALLOKINETIC.

Charles smiles as he silently watches his darling sway from side to side to the rhythm of a music only he can hear. Well, he and Charles, if he chose to tap into Erik’s mind right now, but for the moment, he prefers ignorance. In fact, it astounds him that Erik hasn’t looked up yet and greeted him with his quiet smile, roused by the metal of the wheelchair spokes and Charles’ ancient wristwatch.

Taking heart, Charles grips his hand rims and manoeuvres around the couch to the kitchen table. He hopes his smile doesn’t look too tired when he at last reaches out for Erik mind and brushes a gentle, _Hello, love_ against it.

Erik jumps. He honest-to-god jumps, grey-green eyes shooting up to meet Charles’, cheeks flushing a suspicious shade of dark red. The kitchen knife impales itself in the wooden cutting board.

“Um.” Charles stops before he can wheel around the kitchen island to give Erik a peck on the lips. “Good evening?”

“Charles,” Erik breathes out, hand unsteady as he rakes it through his ash-white hair and watches him. “You’re here.”

“I am, love. And I see we’re not getting take-out today.” Even as he smiles faintly, Charles feels relief flood over the all little irritations accumulated over the day.

“Hmm. About that.” Erik shovels the cut vegetables into a salad bowl and floats the kitchen knife over into the sink, maimed kitchen board included. Then, he takes a deep breath, like he’s steeling himself for something.

“… darling?” Charles inquires one last time. Erik has his shields up, effectively stopping him from reading what is bloody going on, and Charles feels his heart sink.

He thinks _Oh no, he’s going to break up with me_ at the same time as Erik steps around the kitchen island, undoes the strings of fabric fastening the apron to his waist and neck and drops it onto the floor without much ceremony.

After that, Charles doesn’t do much more thinking. At least not the coherent kind.

“You’ll have to earn your dinner, Charles,” Erik says, standing there stark naked with his hands on his waist and an excited blush spreading all down his neck.

“I, uh-” Charles stutters, for the first time in a long time regretting his wheelchair which is keeping him from getting up and sweeping Erik into his arms right then and there. “ _What?_ ”

“You. Earning dinner. By fucking me.” Erik says it like it’s the most logical conclusion ever. Then, he starts towards Charles, with that light gait which makes him look like both predator and prey, and Charles almost can’t believe his luck-

\- until he remembers his research. And his PhD thesis. And the data sets he has yet to analyse, and the permissions he still has to obtain, and the citations he has to check. In fact, he wouldn’t even have time for dinner if Erik didn’t sit him down every day and forcefully made Charles eat with him while his papers are safely locked away in his study.

“Erik. Erik, we can’t, the neighbours might hear us,” he stutters even as his eyes zero in on Erik’s cock, already hanging mouth-wateringly half-hard between his lean legs.

Undeterred, Erik keeps drawing nearer and snaps his fingers. The brakes on Charles' wheelchair click into place, and the hi-fi system in the corner switches on to play soft classical music – just enough to drown out any moans and groans and other sex noises.

“The latkes will get burnt to a crisp?” Charles manages as a second attempt, though smouldering up inside from the sight of Erik alone. His hands, cramped around his armrests, have grown decidedly sweatier since he wheeled into the room. “No dinner, no sex.”

Erik shoots him one of his infamous I-see-through-your-bullshit-Schatz looks. “They’re already off the stove.”

“I- The-” Desperately wracking his brain for a last resort, Charles is grasping at straws. “You left the cat in the oven!”

But it’s already too late – Erik has reached him, has already bent down to press a chaste kiss to Charles’ forehead before he neatly slots his knees between Charles’ thighs and the wheelchair’s armrests to straddle his lap.

“We don’t have a cat, Liebling,” he purrs, his grin as cutting as a scythe. “Unfortunately.”

“We’ll get one when we go back to Westchester,” Charles promises without knowing what he’s saying, thoughts glazed over with the sight of Erik’s criminally trim waist and pert rosy nipples and gracefully arched collarbones. His hands, with a mind of their own, let go of the armrests in favour of trailing over Erik’s sides, the small of his back, finally cupping his perfect, perfect arse. “A cat. Any cat. As big or long or large as you’d like-”

“Please don’t keep going down this tangent,” Erik mutters and leans down to kiss him.

And oh, if this doesn’t just straight-up redeem all the hardships of the day. Moaning, Charles tilts his head back and lets Erik’s tongue slip past his lips to plunder his mouth. Erik tastes like spice and cream – like coming home.

 _Darling_ , Charles whispers at the bright bundle of thoughts and emotions which make up Erik’s mind, _gorgeous, lovely, mine._

“Yes,” moans Erik into their kiss, and the armrests of Charles’ wheelchair creak in protest as Erik folds their metal backwards so he can fully lower himself onto Charles’ lap, grind their crotches together. “Yes, yours.”

It’s glorious – being able to lean back and let someone else do the work for Charles, just this once. He groans against Erik’s lips when his darling’s hands come up to squeeze his shoulders, the back of his neck, the knotted muscles there. Erik’s hard-on is digging into his stomach, and he aches with the want to take his love’s gorgeous prick in his mouth, to suck it until Erik is keening above him, begging Charles to stop while his mind chants _Moremoremore_ and he is coming with a shout-

“Ngh,” Erik groans, leaning back against Charles’ hands on his waist so he can look at him. “You’re projecting.”

Charles traces Erik’s spine with his pinkie and grins at the full-body shudder wracking Erik from head to toe. “You say that as though it’s a bad thing.” Then, he lets his hand dip lower.

“No, no, it’s not- oh yes.” Erik’s hand comes to join Charles’, direct it between his buttocks with a firm grip, and before Charles knows it, he has two fingers up Erik’s arse.

“You’re… _so_ loose,” he gasps, feeling sweat start to bead on his brow as the heat of the moment consumes him. Experimentally, he crooks his fingers – and Erik gasps, grinding back on Charles’ hand as his head lolls forward to rest on Charles’ shoulder.

“All ready for you,” he whispers, barely audible over the soft music still playing on the stereo. “Fuck me, Charles, do it.”

“But Erik, darling…” Charles tilts his head sideways and nuzzles Erik’s shock of petal-white hair, briefly distracted by his lover’s hot, slick heat around his fingers before he comes back to himself. “You know I need preparation to make love to you.”

Without even lifting his head from Charles’ shoulder, Erik holds out his hand. A polished metal dildo comes flying to slap into his palm, a foil-wrapped package of lube hot on its heels.

Charles gapes. Then, he chuckles. “Oh, I see how it is.”

“You’re just always so busy,” Erik hums, mouthing at Charles’ neck between words. “And never home. And when you are, you’re doing your damned research, and I’m left to my own devices, and now I’m just too impatient to wait until you can fuck me with your own cock. Because I’m saving that for dessert.”

“Dessert?” Charles splutters, “Darling, I need to get back to my _work_ ,” but Erik bites down on his collarbone and he shuts his mouth.

“Either you take this evening off, Schatz,” Erik whispers, dangerously low, “for your own health and safety, or I’ll melt all the curtain rods and your favourite cufflinks.”

Well. Who is Charles to stand up against such a convincing argument?

“Give here,” he murmurs, taking the sex toy from Erik’s hand even as he plunges a third finger in alongside the first two. Erik’s mind is one big protest of _I already prepared so hurry up_ , but Charles doesn’t care to rush this.

He’ll take his sweet time – savour the moment.

He has Erik rip open the package with his teeth, then lets him spread the lube all over the shiny steel dildo. It’s Erik’s favourite, by far, and Charles watches with fascination as his darling’s head lolls against his chest, progressively more open-mouthed with every thrust and curl of Charles’ fingers. Erik is not a screamer – all Charles ever gets from him are half-swallowed moans and stifled cries, so he knows to treasure any utterance.

By the time Charles deems him ready, Erik is rocking back against his hand desperately, frustration laced all through his thoughts even as he revels in the delicious stretch of Charles’ fingers. The hand which isn’t smeared with lube has started shakily undoing Charles’ shirt buttons, setting an achingly slow pace.

“Alright then,” Charles murmurs, Erik’s breath wet and hot and impatient against his neck when he pulls his fingers out and lines the head of the dildo up with Erik’s entrance, “here we go, dear.”

“Get a move on,” Erik wheezes, the sweat-slick muscles of his back pulling taut under Charles’ gaze. “For fuck’s sake, Charles-”

A moan so sweet and surprised is punched out of him when Charles slides the dildo home in one smooth thrust that Charles wishes he could freeze this moment and live in it for eternity. Erik is gripping his shoulders, fingers digging into Charles’ flesh as his back arches, his eyes flutter closed and his thighs tremble with pleasure as he is filled.

 _Move, goddamnit_ ¸ and Charles complies. He grips Erik’s waist to press their upper bodies flush together before he starts to slide the dildo in and out of Erik, slowly at first, delighting in the quiet squelching sounds.

Erik turns his head to suckle at Charles’ neck again, an attempt at softening his resolve. _Move_ , he chants, commands even, _move move move_. But Charles stands decided.

“Be patient, love,” he murmurs the very moment he angles the dildo _just_ so and drags its tip over Erik’s prostate, has his beautiful, _beautiful_ darling all shuddering and keening softly.

“You’re cruel,” Erik sobs, his tears warm against Charles’ collarbones, and Charles shushes him gently with one hand on the nape of his neck, squeezing until Erik goes limp like a tamed beast. Then, Charles speeds up his movements.

Erik’s cries against his throat are muffled growls and threats, but Charles is far too transfixed with the sight of his beautiful darling taking it so well, even as Erik clenches around the dildo, stutters his hips, gasps every time Charles hits his sweet spot.

Inconspicuously, Charles rides the waves of Erik’s frustration and toe-curling delight until he comes to the part of his mind where his pleasure centre is tucked away. There, he sends out the active part of his mutation and envelops Erik’s building orgasm in a thin veneer of control.

“My love, my gorgeous,” he says softly, “do you want to come at all tonight?”

His tone has Erik’s attention flaring up bright hot, and the man lifts his head to stare at him, bleary-eyed. “What?”

Charles presses down on his darling’s pleasure centre once – a simple push, but enough to let Erik know who's holding the reins – and Erik’s eyes widen in shock, arousal shooting up his spine with how Charles has him utterly in his hand.

“You bastard,” he breathes, “du Mistkerl-”

“A-hem.” Charles keeps the tip of the dildo pressed against Erik’s prostate, watches him go cross-eyed with overstimulation, and tuts. “I asked: _Do you want to come?_ ”

The tear tracks on Erik’s face glimmer silvern. He nods, face twisted up in a grimace of pure, pleading misery which would have Charles caving if he didn’t know how good of an actor Erik is, even in the throes of pleasure. “Yes.”

Charles resumes his leisurely pace with the dildo. “Say please,” he hums, delighted when Erik’s moan reverberates through the skin under his touch.

“Please,” Erik gasps, brusquely as though that is supposed to solve the problem.

“With a bit more feeling, if I may ask.” Charles’ hand goes to pat Erik’s tight-strung thigh and is rewarded with a dirty glare.

If looks could kill… Charles grins and bats his eyelashes innocently, chucking Erik under the chin affectionately while struggling to keep his rhythm. “Come on now. You did this to yourself, remember.”

“I hate you,” Erik hisses softly before he throws his arms around Charles’ neck to bury his head at his throat and gasp, “Please, Charles, please, let me come, pleasepleaseplease.”

And who is Charles to deny such a passionate plea? He gives a few more pumps with his hand which have Erik snarling with frustration, then he releases his hold on Erik’s mind.

Erik comes on the spot, muffling his shout in Charles’ shirt collar as he spurts his cum all over their abdomens, grinding back on the dildo desperately for that sweet, sweet friction. It sweeps Charles away, too, makes him go limp in unison with Erik, gasping, panting, cheeks more flushed than ever.

They stay like that for a few heartbeats, until Charles picks himself up to heed to Erik’s whines of discomfort and pulls the sex toy out.

“Well,” he sighs, the exhaustion of the day suddenly settling heavily on his shoulders, “this was lovely.”

“Hrrm.” Slumped against his chest, Erik is still limp and pliable. His hand – the one he lathered the dildo with – comes up to stroke Charles’ sweat-streaked hair. Charles doesn’t even mind.

“Dinner?” he asks, “After we clean up?”

“You set the table,” Erik agrees. Then, he straightens up and leans back to lock eyes with Charles. “Did my sacrifice have any effect at least?”

Charles cocks an eyebrow. “Sacrifice?”

“Oh, you really are the worst, the most forgetful lover.” Erik leans down and kisses him. “The most neglectful.” He kisses him again. “And so cold-hearted.” And there, he smiles, all crooked and fond. “I really don’t know why I put up with you.”

It’s not that Charles ever forgets that he loves Erik. It’s always there, this quiet warm feeling, tucked away in a corner of his heart, ready to be taken out and unfolded like a well-loved photograph. But instances such as these make it come back full force, punching him in the gut like the day he realised he wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ ever go without that smile, that rare laugh, this wonderful man again, not anymore.

“You’re the best distraction,” he promises, “and I wouldn’t give you up for anything,” and from the look in Erik’s eyes, he knows he feels just the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and especially comments spark joy!


End file.
